


Like a Moth to a Flame

by sleapyGazelle



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: "bad boy" Keith, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, and Lance is drawn in like a moth to a flame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleapyGazelle/pseuds/sleapyGazelle
Summary: Lance ends up in detention because of Keith. Somehow, he isn't too bummed out about it.A preview of my in-the-works high school klance AU.





	Like a Moth to a Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "One shot detention fic" by tumblr user @themoistplinth

Lance spent his entire day at school _dreading_ the end of last period. He kept looking at the clock, willing it to slow down. But every time he glanced, it seemed to have sped up instead. 

When the last bell finally rang, Lance stood up from his seat, still not mentally prepared for the walk of shame to the math classroom. He slung his bag over his shoulder, said emotional goodbyes to his best friends Hunk and Pidge, and set off.

It was just his luck that detention was being held in Iverson’s class, which was on the opposite end of the hallway from Lance’s final period. The whole school would see him going to detention. This was all _Keith's_ fault.

“Hey, wait up.”

Speak of the devil. “What do _you_ want?” Lance bit out. He refused to slow his pace even as his heart skipped a beat at the sound of the gravelly voice.

“I have detention with you, remember?” Keith fell into step beside him, letting their hands brush. When Lance didn't pull away, Keith tentatively took a hold of his fingers.

Lance peeked at him to find his expression mostly neutral except for the tiniest upward quirk to his mouth. “Keith,” he whispered. “Everyone’s watching.”

“You telling me to let go?” Keith sounded way too smug for comfort.

Lance huffed but didn't answer. They'd been doing this for a while now—teasing, flirting, going around each other without actually taking a step closer. Lance wasn't even sure if it _was_ flirting in the first place.

Just then, as they passed one of the lesser used stairwells, Keith opened the door and pulled him inside. Lance found himself with his back against the wall, facing one of Keith's rare smiles—except that they'd gotten less rare ever since the two of them had started hanging out more. Lance tried his best to hold back a grin of his own; he wasn't supposed to be encouraging Keith's impulsivity. He was the impulse _control_ in this friendship… _relationship?_ …whatever.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Keith shrugged. And was it just Lance or did that come out much more flirty than necessary?

“I'm already in trouble because of you,” he accused, managing to put some bite behind the words.

“We’ve already got detention, what else could happen?”

Lance glared at him.

“I'm sorry,” Keith said, taking a step closer, but there was still mischief in his eyes and Lance could feel his face heating up.

“Why'd you splash that paint on me?” he demanded, still salty over getting detention for it.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You started it. I think it was because it was art class and you were bored.”

“I _discreetly_ painted a cat face on your hand,” Lance exclaimed. “You splashed a handful of paint on my face!”

“Ah yeah, that was because you were being really cute.”

Lance gave up trying not to smile. He pushed Keith away playfully and reached for the door. “If we're late to detention we’ll get more of it and I am _not_ doing this again. My mom’s face when she heard,” he shook his head as he led the way back out into the hallway, “she was so disappointed.”

“Okay I really am sorry about that.”

They got to Iverson's room just in time. He was settling in at his desk when they took their seats near the back of the room, Lance behind Keith.

“So you losers have to stay late because you've behaved irresponsibly,” Iverson barked, peering out at them with his one good eye. “I'm only getting paid to sit here, so that's what I'm gonna do. So just do homework or study, and don't bother me.”

Keith took out a notebook to doodle in. Lance crossed his arms on the desk and rested his head on them, sighing. He was already bored. After a while, he took out his binder, flipped to a blank page and tore off a corner. **‘Your hair looks stupid from the back :P’** he scribbled, folding it and sticking into Keith's hood with a soft tug.

Keith reached back for it, chuckling when he read it, then pocketed it. A moment later, he dropped a scrap of paper back in his own hood.

Lance took it out and unfolded it.

**passing notes in detention? tsk tsk**

Lance smirked, turning it over and writing, **‘pot? kettle??’** He dropped it into the hood again.

Keith slid his next note directly onto Lance's desk; reaching into his hood every other second would get suspicious pretty fast.

**Iverson's closed eye looks like a mouth**

It took all of Lance's self-control not to snort out loud. **’how long have you been staring at it??’** he wrote back, reaching under his desk and slipping the note into Keith's hoodie pocket this time.

By the time the next bell rang signaling the end of detention, Keith's pockets were overflowing with slips of torn looseleaf paper, as was the inside of Lance’s desk. Lance swept the notes into his bag, telling himself he'd throw them out but knowing he'd just read them again later.

“Lance.”

Lance looked up to see the principal calling out to him from the doorway. “I'll catch you later,” he muttered to Keith, walking up to her as Keith and the rest of the students filed out. “Hi, mom,” he greeted her sheepishly.

“Lance,” she said, in that stern but reasonable voice of hers. “He's gotten you into detention, and you're still hanging out with him?”

“It wasn't his fault!”

“Lance.” The finality in her tone already stung. “He's a bad influence!” She sighed, adding more softly, “You have big dreams. You're not going to get into that aerospace engineering program you've been after if you spend your time with troublemakers.”

“Mom, you can't say stuff like that about your students,” he protested.

She half-smiled at that. “At least I didn't call him a delinquent.”

Lance groaned.

“What? He's the one with tattoos already at age seventeen, dressing in leather and growing out his hair.”

“He's a good guy. And it's _one_ tattoo.” And Lance was discovering he had kind of a thing for bad boys with good hearts. Or maybe it was just one good-hearted bad boy in particular.

“I never said he wasn't. But Lance, these are your formative years. If you're really serious about your goals, you need to get your priorities in order.”

Lance’s retort died on his tongue because over his mom's shoulder he saw a flash of leather and black hair as Keith walked away from his locker—which was just next to the doorway where Lance and his mom were talking—toward the exit.

He couldn't explain to her what it was about that boy that drew him in like a moth to a flame. But he hoped he could show her that he had room for both Keith _and_ his career goals in his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [writing blog](https://sleapywolfwrites.tumblr.com/) | [VLD sideblog](https://sir-klancelot.tumblr.com/)


End file.
